


in the way

by lacecat (orphan_account)



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Bickering, Dirty Talk, I know nothing about music, M/M, Piano, but i know about my gay revolutionary sons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 12:22:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8532943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lacecat
Summary: Ben, an aspiring pianist, moves into a tiny apartment to pursue his dream career. Little does he know, the wall between his apartment and his neighbor’s is hollow, so that they can both hear everything that the other does. That’s how he meets Caleb Brewster, his loud neighbor who drives him absolutely crazy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> based on the movie Blind Date (2015), which is on Netflix and is such a French rom-com that I recommend 10/10 to cheer up

•••

 

The apartment was even smaller than Ben remembered. He had visited it with the realtor before signing any paperwork, but now that it was officially his, his boxes and bed occupying the sparse space, it seemed more and more cramped.

 

He sets down the box he’d been carrying (dishes and glasses, helpfully labeled in Nathan’s scrawl) and sighs. 

 

Nathan steps in through the door behind him, carrying the last of the boxes, and Ben takes the top one from him. “You sure that piano’s going to fit in here?” he asks, eyebrows raised. “Because it’d be a shame if you had to practice in the hallway.”

 

“Of course it is,” Ben replies automatically, putting the box on the counter. “Besides, it’s not like I have much besides the piano.” 

 

“Right.” Nathan sets down the box on Ben’s small bed. “I’ll get the wine, then.” 

 

As Nathan leaves, the movers appear in the hallway wheeling the piano itself. It’s a Baldwin, a gift from Washington, Ben’s long time piano teacher, and Ben’s most prized possession. 

 

He had been living with Washington ever since he left his father’s house to pursue a pianist career five years ago. It had been fine when he was younger, but recently, Washington had been getting more and more terse with him, and their lessons ended in an argument more often than not. Nathan, his friend since college, never liked Washington that much, and pushed at Ben for months to move out. 

 

When Ben had seen the ad for this apartment, he had made the decision to put down an offer, and that had been that. The rent was cheap, and it was in a great location at the heart of the city- that was worth the lack of space. 

 

The movers set down the piano carefully under Ben’s watchful eye, and he tips them before they leave. He runs a hand over the fine grain wood surface as Nathan renters, carrying a bottle in one hand and two wine glasses in the other. 

 

“Figured I’d buy you some glasses as a house warming present,” he jokes, putting them down on the table and uncorking the wine. “These are the best that the Dollar Store down the street has to offer, I’ll have you know.”

 

Ben gives a small laugh and takes a glass of wine after Nathan pours them two generous glasses. “To new beginnings,” he says, and their glasses clink together.

 

 

•••

 

 

After Nathan leaves in a cab (“I’ll just pick up the car tomorrow,” he slurs slightly, as Ben helps him into his jacket, the wine also making his vision blurry at the corners), Ben sits down on top of his bed. He’ll have to unpack more in the morning, before practice with Washington, should be practicing now, but his eyelids are heavy and he’s beginning to slump on his bed-

 

_Creak_. Ben’s eyes snap open at the strange sound. He looks around with a start, then jumps again as the picture frame across the room from him on the wall tilts alarmingly, rotating back and forth on the wall. 

 

Ben watches with wide eyes as the frame moves again, and he has enough sense to scramble into the kitchen, ducking behind one of the pillars that separates it from the rest of the apartment. “Who’s there?” he shouts, as if he actually expects an answer.

 

The picture frame moves again, but this time, there’s also a whooshing sound, and he can now hear garbled muttering. “I said, who’s there?” Ben shouts, scrabbling around in a drawer until he finds a knife. 

 

The noises don’t stop, but when it’s clear no one’s managed to break into his apartment, Ben steps out cautiously from behind the pillar, wielding a knife. 

 

He watches as the picture frame continues to rotate, as if- _as if someone’s moving it._

 

Determined, Ben strides across the room, setting down the knife on top of the piano. He grabs the sides of the frame and yanks, managing to pull it an inch from the wall.

 

The noises stop, and he hears a sharp cry from behind the frame. “Shit!” A decidedly human voice exclaims. “My fingers!”  


Ben doesn’t let go of the frame, instead pulls it more. “Who are you?” 

 

“Ow! I’m your neighbor, all right? Can you just put back the frame on the wall?” The voice says, sounding pained. “You’ve trapped my fingers in the wire, and it fucking hurts!”

 

Ben sets the picture frame back, and there’s a shuffling sound from where he realizes now is the other side of the wall, and he can hear an exhale of relief. “Why did you set up a picture frame through the wall, then?” he demands. 

 

“Listen, the superintendent is a piece of shit. The wall between our apartments is hollow, you can hear everything. And I mean everything, it was driving me crazy. So I just set up the picture frame and speaker to scare any residents, all right? It’s worked so far. No one else tried to fucking break my fingers!” the voice says, the last part accusatory. 

 

“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you tried to scare anyone,” Ben shoots back. “It can’t be that bad!”  


 

“It’s terrible, and no one’s willing to fix it,” the voice says glumly. “Why did you think the rent was so low?”

 

“It’s a tiny apartment!” Ben exclaims. “How was I supposed to know that the wall was hollow?” 

 

“You can probably get your deposit back if you kick up enough fuss. Hell, you could even try breaking someone else’s fingers-” 

 

“I’m not leaving,” Ben interrupts, firm. “It’s my apartment now. We can work out a schedule or something-”  


 

“A schedule?” The voice says mockingly, and Ben’s blood begins to boil. “What, you can make noise from 7 to 4, I get 5 to 9-”  


 

“It could work!”  


 

“Well fuck that,” the voice declares. “You’ll just have to get used to my noise.”  


 

Well, then. Two can play this game. Ben sets his jaw. “I guess you’ll just have to get used to mine, then,” he declares, turning on his heel. 

 

He hears a huff, and then footsteps leading away. Ben sits down on his bed, rubbing his eyes, when his new neighbor turns on the radio. The sound is only ever so slightly muffled, as if it’s right there in the room. He can ever hear humming, and the creaking of floorboards as his neighbor taps his foot on the ground. 

 

Ben can deal with inconveniently loud classic rock music. Right?

 

 

 

•••

 

 

Ben cannot fucking deal with the music for one more minute.

 

It’s very late at night, several hours after he’s gone to bed, and the radio is still blaring the hits of Springsteen. Ben groans, rolling over to swat at the wall. “Hey! Don’t you have to sleep?”

 

The music goes quiet for a moment, and the voice is back. “Had enough? Just call your realtor, you can be out by tomorrow morning.”   


 

Ben glares at the wall. “As if,” he spits out, and the music goes back to its previous volume.

 

Ben stuffs a pillow over his head. 

 

 

•••

 

 

At exactly four in the morning, after many hours of music, the radio goes quiet. Ben’s phone alarm vibrates quietly at six thirty, and he shuts it off, getting up to stretch. 

 

He sits down at the piano, casts a glare at the wall, and begins to play one of his warm up tunes. 

 

About a minute in, he can hear a groan, the shifting of sheets. “You have a piano?” the voice mutters. 

 

Ben focuses on the movement of his hands across the keys for a moment before answering. “I do.”

 

“Why would you possibly be practicing at this hour?” 

 

“Why, is this bothering you?” Ben grits out, punching the keys a bit harder than necessary, probably because he’d barely been able to sleep. “Because if it is, you can always move out.” 

 

The voice doesn’t reply.

 

 

•••

 

 

When Ben gets back from practice later that day, there’s only a brief moment of silence before he can hear a loud mechanical whirring sound.

 

“What are you doing?” He shouts over what sounds like the shriek of a saw. 

 

“I’m working on a project tonight, hope this isn’t too distracting for you!” The voice proclaims over the grinding metal.

 

Ben grits his teeth and focuses on the email he’s replying to, some private piano lessons. 

 

After he sends the email, and there’s more clanking sounds of metal on metal, he happens to see a list of smoothie recipes that Nathan has shared online. 

 

He makes the decision to go to the store right then, buying both a blender and a variety of fruits and yogurts. 

 

The machinery sounds have stopped by the time he’s returned. Ben plugs in the blender, faces the wall, and proceeds to make smoothies for the next two hours. 

 

“Just trying to be healthy, you know,” he declares at one point, when he thinks he hears a grumble. Ben smiles to himself as he pours a strawberry banana smoothie into a glass and takes a loud slurp. 

 

 

•••

 

 

The next day, his neighbor drags furniture all over the place, the sounds alternating fromlow thuds to painful sounding screeches. Ben retaliates by playing a particularly loud sonata, then vacuums late at night. 

 

It goes on and on, from a loud hair dryer to the clashing sound of plates. Ben considers complaining about it to Nathan, but he doesn’t quite know how to explain the strange challenge that he’s involved in now. 

 

It goes on for another week. The sounds grow more outrageous and loud in volume, until one day, Ben plugs in a metronome and sets it right next to the wall. 

 

“That’s all you got?” The voice exclaims when it’s clear that the quiet rhythmic tapping is all that Ben is projecting from his side of the wall. “I won’t even dignify that with a response.” 

 

Ben says nothing, and lets the tapping do his work. 

 

His neighbor lasts eight hours. 

 

“Fine,” he hears, said in a quiet, defeated voice, and Ben closes his computer. 

 

“Fine?”

 

“Fine, you bastard. You win.”

 

Ben smiles. “Great. So I was thinking that we could agree on silence from one in the morning to seven, if that works for your schedule, Mr.-?”

 

“Brewster. Caleb Brewster,” the voice says. “And that works for me.”

 

 

•••

 

 

They come up with a schedule, talking through the wall at each other. 

 

Ben limits his playing to their agreed upon hours, and Caleb stops making crazy sounds late at night. 

 

They even talk sometimes, which is how Ben discovers that they’re both from New Jersey, and that they both have truly ridiculous friends (Caleb is introduced to Nathan one fateful afternoon after Nathan throws a glass at the wall when a phantom voice seems to come through, and Ben meets Anna and Abe, who alternate between arguing with each other and picking on Caleb).

 

Caleb doesn’t leave his apartment much. Ben finds this out when Caleb tells him that after his uncle died, the grief made him isolated in his apartment with only occasional trips out. His uncle left him enough money so that he wasn’t in need of work, so instead he spends his days organizing charity events through his computer, donating his time that way as well as his money. Caleb’s also a fan of Julia Child’s cooking show, and he’s a good cook, if the smells that come through the thin walls are any indication. 

 

Ben, in return, tells him about his past with Washington, how he’s wanted to be a pianist ever since he was little, and how he’s worried about his strained relationship with his teacher, the fact he hasn’t talked to his father in over two years. He starts to reveal things that he hasn’t even told Nathan to Caleb, on why he finds his escape in the piano, that he feels closest to his mother (who passed away when Ben was ten) when he plays, since she’s the one who taught him at first. 

 

Caleb’s easy to talk to, has a quick sense of humor, and even talks Ben through repairing a kitchen sink leak once. Ben starts to look forward to their conversations, even as Washington continues to push him, and his practice hours become more and more strenuous. 

 

They both decide not to meet face to face. There’s something refreshing over the fact that they are limited to these conversations, and sometimes, Ben tries to picture Caleb in his head, but to no avail. 

 

One day, after a particularly grueling session with Washington (he had told Ben in that infuriatingly even tone that he wasn’t going to make it as a pianist, that he was obviously slacking off in his practice, even as Ben clenched his fists so tightly they hurt), Ben slams his door shut as he enters his apartment. 

 

“I take it practice today didn’t go well,” Caleb remarks, and there’s a thud as if he set down a glass.

 

Ben doesn’t answer for a moment, staring at the piano in front of him. “It’s nothing. I just have to practice more.” He goes to sit down at the keys. 

 

“You’ve been practicing a lot. I know it takes a lot to become professional, but honestly, I think you’re going to burn yourself out-”

 

“Right, when did you become an expert on this?” Ben snaps, regretting it as Caleb goes silent. 

 

“Jesus, don’t bite my head off,” Caleb says, and Ben chooses to begin playing instead of replying.

 

Something’s off, even as he pushes himself, makes his hands fly over the keys- and he knows it, that Washington was right, that he doesn’t have what it takes-

 

“Your playing is technically perfect,” Caleb says suddenly, and Ben stops. 

 

“What?” 

 

“It really is. It’s damn perfect. But you don’t play with emotion.” 

 

“What do you know about playing the piano with emotion?” 

 

“Humor me for a minute. My uncle took me to the symphony when I was a kid, all right. You’re playing _Nocturne_ , right?” 

 

“I am.” 

 

“They call it “murmurs of the Seine”, but you’re not murmuring, you’re whispering.”

 

Ben slowly sets his hands back on the keys, and Caleb continues. “You don’t take it on. You’ve got no feeling, no experience, no warmth. You’ve got no soul, and Chopin needs a heavy dose of soul!”

 

“Really, you’re too kind,” Ben bites back sarcastically, but the words ring true. Washington has always told him that the best piano players make no mistakes, that their movements are controlled, impeccable, and precise- but then again, maybe Washington isn’t always right. 

 

“Maybe you need to try it. Try playing with soul,” Caleb urges, and Ben tries again.

 

His fingers move up and down, and Caleb makes an assenting noise. “ _Soul_ , Ben-” and Ben lets his arms loosen, his body swing as he gets into the flow of the melody.

 

Something changes. He can hear it, he can _feel_ it, and it’s unlike anything he’s every played before, unlike the thousands of times he’s played it before. 

 

Faintly, he can hear Caleb make encouraging sounds, shout suggestions, but it fades away as Ben sinks into the music, letting it envelop him, his hands drawing forth the music he’s losing himself into. 

 

He finishes the piece, and there’s silence for a moment, as Ben tries to catch his breath, feeling suddenly winded.

 

Another beat of silence, and then Caleb says in a quiet voice, “That. Now that, that had soul. That was goddamn beautiful.” 

 

Something in Ben’s chest turns over, a warm feeling that extends to the tips of his fingers, and he makes a decision. 

 

Ben breathes in sharply. “Caleb?”

 

“Yes?” 

 

“Would you want- what if we were in a relationship?” 

 

There’s a pause. “You mean dating?” 

 

“Yeah. But maybe we still don’t meet. We’re-” and Ben tries to come up with the right words, “-you’re special to me, and this, this thing between us, it’s unique, it’s strange, but it works. Maybe it’s that we’ve never seen each other. But you can’t tell me you don’t feel it too. What if we tried this?” 

 

“Ben-”

 

“God. I don’t want to make it weird. But I feel like I know you, and I think you know me better than anyone else at this moment,” Ben says in a rush. “Would you just try it? With me?”  


There’s a fond chuckle, and Ben’s heart lights up. “Of course, you idiot. I was going to say yes. How about you and I cook tomorrow night? 

 

“I’d like that,” Ben says.

 

 

•••

 

 

Their first “date” goes well. Even though he knows Caleb can’t see him, Ben dresses up in a button down, tying an apron over his shirt and ironed pants so that they don’t get dirty while he cooks. 

 

Caleb tries his best to guide him through the cooking, even though Ben is helpless in the kitchen. “Remember to stir those onions, you want them lightly golden brown and evenly cooked-” Caleb calls out, and Ben bites back a curse as he retrieves the now burned onions from the stovetop, making the executive decision not to tell Caleb that his dinner will now be onion-free. 

 

They eat dinner, their respective tables pushed up against the wall so that they’re at least close. They talk late into the night, and it’s special, even as they separately clean the dishes. Caleb tells him about the rehab center fundraiser that he’s organizing, and Ben gives him advice on some of the legal elements of government funding, knowledge from back when Ben wanted to be a lawyer at Yale, before he decided to play the piano professionally. 

 

After he sets the last dish down on the drying rack, Ben turns back to face the wall. “Well, I should be going to bed,” he says, now a bit unsure. 

 

There’s a brief rustling sound. “You know, if I could see you, this would be the point in the date when I’d invite you in for some coffee,” Caleb says teasingly, his voice low, and _oh._

 

_“_ Oh yeah?” Ben says, making his way over to his bed, from where it’s pushed up against their shared wall. “What would you do?” 

 

“Well, I can’t see you, but I’m guessing you’re wearing some sort of tie, maybe a jacket, definitely nice shoes.” 

 

Ben looks down at his outfit. Caleb’s not wrong for the most part. “How’d you know?”

 

“Oh, I know you. You got yourself all dressed up for me, didn’t you?” Caleb says in a drawl, and something in his tone makes Ben flush. “Your hair’s probably all neat, too. So first thing I’d do, is grab you by your tie, maybe mess up your hair a bit.” 

 

Ben bites his lower lip, beginning to unbutton his shirt. “Yeah?” 

 

“That’s right.” Caleb pauses for a moment. “Do you- do you want to do this?” 

 

“I do, I do,” Ben repeats, his voice breathy to his own ears, as he takes off his shirt completely. “Tell me more.” His hands creep to the button his his pants, and he slides a hand underneath his waistband, where he’s growing hard. 

 

“I’d lead you to my bed. I’d want to get your shirt off, but you’re probably so handsy, it takes some time. Maybe I’d get frustrated, and just tear it off you. You’d probably complain, but I’d make sure it was worth your while soon.” There’s a soft thud, which Ben recognizes as a belt falling on the ground. He takes himself in hand and closes his eyes. 

 

“What would you have me do?” Ben asks, and he hears Caleb suck in a breath between his teeth. 

 

“God, Ben. I’d want to put my mouth all over you. I’d start on your neck, maybe leave some bruises, mark you up so prettily. You’d be making soft sounds, probably holding yourself back, but I want to hear you,” and Ben moans at that, his hand working up and down on his cock. 

 

“Caleb-”

 

“That’s right,” Caleb says. “That’s it. Are you touching yourself?”

  
“Yeah,” Ben breathes. “Tell me- tell me what to do,” and his ears are burning red, but Caleb gives a low groan at that, so he must be doing something right. 

 

“You’re so good, Ben,” he moans, and Ben can even hear the faint slick sound of flesh on flesh. “I want you to grip your cock right now, imagine I’m on top of you. I’d want to press you down into the mattress, grind into you like we have all the time in the world, that it’s just you and me, nothing else matters.”

 

Ben’s getting close, and he fists a hand into the sheets as his other hand continues to work himself over. “God, Caleb!”

 

“That’s right, come on, you must be close. I want to put my mouth on you, I want to suck your cock. I’ve got a beard, do you know that? I want to rub my face on your thighs so that you’re red and flushed all over, so that all tomorrow you can feel where I was sucking you off, remember being in my bed, and when you’re sitting pretty at a piano, you’re still sore, because I’ll make you come again and again-”

 

Ben’s back bows off the bed as he gives another moan, finally coming into his hand. His vision goes white, and he slumps back into his bed. He can hear Caleb breathing heavily, moaning himself, and it’s a beautiful sound as Caleb also comes with a loud moan, his bed making a thumping sound as he collapses from just on the other side of the wall. 

 

Ben tries catches his breath. “That- that worked out surprisingly well,” he says, and Caleb chuckles, still panting. 

 

“Yeah. Yeah, that worked.”

 

 

•••

 

 

“So you’ve never seen each other, but you’re dating,” Nathan hazards from where he’s standing besides Ben in the produce aisle. 

 

“That’s right,” Ben says, then squints at the packaging. “Do you think the type of radish really matters? Caleb told me to pick up the large healthy-looking ones for our cooking date tonight, but I think these are actually different.”

 

Nathan shrugs. “I don’t know anything about radishes. But you’re happy, right?” 

 

Ben glances over at him. “I am,” he says with a small smile. “I really am.”

 

 

•••

 

 

Then it goes downhill.

 

It starts when Ben comes back from a late practice with Washington. He’s to audition for a prestigious concert next week, and his practices have been more and more tense. He had tried to play like Caleb had inspired him in front of Washington, but the man had quickly shut it down.

 

(“Your movements are uncontrolled, shaky,” he tells Ben, from where he’s facing a window, but no doubt listening to every note that Ben plays with a meticulous ear. “Practice it again like we discussed, no more of this experimentation. And start-” )

 

“Babe?” Caleb says. “You back?” 

 

Ben lets his bag drop onto the ground. “Washington said today that I’m lucky they’re even letting me on the stage next week, that I’ve been sloppy in practice for quite some time now.” 

 

“Now you know he’s just being harsh, you’re brilliant, Ben, and definitely not sloppy-”

 

“But what if it’s not enough?” Ben bites out, and he can feel a knot beginning to tighten in his chest. “What if I’m not enough? What if they laugh me off the stage?” 

 

“Where’s this coming from?” There’s a dragging sound as Caleb’s chair moves. “You know you’re perfectly qualified to be there next week. They’d be lucky to have you-”  


 

“Don’t just say that,” Ben snaps, and Caleb goes quiet. “You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know what it’s like to be on stage, and they’re already judging you before you even sit down at the bench, I mean!”  


 

“Now, hang on,” Caleb says, frustration coloring his tone. “Just because I’m not a piano master like you doesn’t mean I don’t know pressure. I understand it’s a lot of pressure, but I think you’re just being hard on yourself. And so what if you don’t get the spot? There are other programs, other concerts-” 

 

“Washington had to work so hard to get me this audition, I don’t think he’ll be able to magic another one out of thin air!” Ben kicks his bag, his hands clenched. “If I don’t get this spot, I’ll just be stuck in this apartment for the rest of my life-” and he realizes exactly what he’s saying as the words come out, and he immediately stops, says, “I mean-” 

 

“No, I get it,” Caleb’s voice is icy, and Ben winces even though he can’t see the expression on his face. “You don’t want to be another loser trapped in his apartment. I get it.”

 

“No, Caleb, that’s not what I meant-” 

 

“I think that’s exactly what you meant. I’m going to go to bed. Goodnight, Ben.” 

 

“Caleb?” Ben says.“I’m sorry. Shit. I didn’t mean that. Caleb?” 

 

But he must have put earplugs in or just ignores Ben, for there’s no answer. 

 

Ben goes to bed feeling as though he’s truly fucked this up.

 

 

•••

 

 

The next morning, Ben wakes up, and even hesitantly calls out for Caleb. But there’s no answer. Either Caleb’s ignoring him, or he’s left for some rare meeting. 

 

Ben goes to practice, comes back that night, calls for Caleb again, but still, no answer. 

 

The next day, the same thing happens. 

 

His practices get longer and longer in the days leading up to the audition, but he doesn’t hear a single word from Caleb. 

 

The only reason he knows that the other man hasn’t moved out is that he can still hear some faint sounds, as if Caleb is trying to keep his actions quiet. He tries talking to him, but there’s never a response.

 

 

•••

 

 

Then it’s the morning of the audition. Before he leaves, Ben faces the wall. “I’m headed off now,” he tries, but there’s no response. “All right. I guess I’ll try talking to you tonight.” 

 

Silence. He takes a deep, shaky breath, and goes to the audition.

 

 

•••

 

 

When Ben walks on the stage, behind the jury, there’s Washington, Nathan, and two figures that Ben recognizes as Anna and Abe, Caleb’s friends. He doesn’t dare do anything more than smile at them, and he sits down at the piano and begins to play.

 

His movements are as collected and technical as ever, just like Washington taught him, but from the corner of his eye, he can see the judges’ impassive faces. They’re not moved by his performance, and Ben tamps down on the surge of panic, as he continues to play _Nocturne._

 

There’s a muffled sound backstage, and Ben pays it no mind, until there’s a sharper crashing sound, causing him to jolt slightly. The judges frown, and Ben even glances up as he hears two voices. 

 

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave-”

 

“No, you see, I can’t go, but we haven’t exactly seen each other, so I didn’t want to surprise him- Ben!”

 

The voice is unmistakable, and Ben stops playing in surprise. “Caleb?” 

 

“Ben! Ben, murmur! You need to murmur!” His voice is cut off as the other person apparently drags him away, behind the curtain where Ben can’t see. “Murmur-!”

 

Ben stares after the sound, his mouth slightly open. Caleb had come to see him. Caleb was just there-

 

He realizes that he’s just frozen on stage, and one of the judges makes a scoffing sound. Ben turns to face them, belatedly, and sees Washington’s disappointed face. 

 

“That’s enough, Mr. Tallmadge,” the judge says. “You may exit-”   


 

“No,” Ben says, and the judge’s eyebrows fly up. “No, I’m going to start again.” 

 

“Mr. Tallmadge-” but Ben pays them no mind. He takes a deep breath, thinks of the wallpaper on his apartment wall, burned onions, Caleb’s laugh- and he plays. 

 

His gestures become looser, his hands feel more fluid, and it’s just like when Caleb urged him on. From the corner of his eye, Washington frowns more, but the judges lean forward in their seats, drawn to his performance in a way that they weren’t before. 

 

Ben feels his way through the music, abandoning technical perfection, and lets the music wash over him. He thinks of Caleb, and the music flows naturally through his hands and through the keys. 

 

He finally finishes, the music fading out. There’s a beat of silence, and then Nathan, Anna, and Abe are all whistling and applauding. 

 

He bows, exiting the stage, and tries to still his shaking hands.

 

Washington meets him backstage. “You didn’t do what I taught you,” he says, looking at him right in the eye. 

 

Ben squares his shoulders. “No, sir.” 

 

There’s a moment, and then the smallest of smiles creeps onto the older man’s face. “Good job, Benjamin,” he says, and walks away before Ben can respond. 

 

Afterwards, one of the judges come up to him, and tells him he has the spot in the concert, that his _Nocturne_ was unlike anything she’s ever heard before. Ben thanks her, managed to thank the others for coming, before he’s hopping in his car and heading back home.

 

 

•••

 

 

Ben closes the door behind him. 

 

“Caleb?” 

 

There’s no answer, and Ben takes a steady breath.

 

“Caleb, I’m in love with you. I’m sorry I fucked things up. You- you’ve made me a better man. You’ve made me happy. You make my music make sense, and I- I want to make you happy.”

 

There’s still no response, and Ben’s stomach drops. 

 

“I just needed to let you know that. I can move out tomorrow, I don’t want to inconvenience you-” and there’s a loud thunk from the other side of the wall, and Ben pauses. “Caleb?”   


 

Another thunk, and then another. Ben sees the crack in the wall a split second later, andhe takes a step forward in surprise. “Are you-” 

 

Another loud crashing sound, then a crunching sound, and the wall splits open. 

 

Ben coughs as a cloud of dust from the sheetrock engulfs him, and then there are hands prying apart the boards where the wall was. “Caleb?” 

 

The hands retreat, and then there’s a foot, then another, and then a torso and head- and it’s Caleb, coming through the wall. 

 

Ben stares at him, covered in fine powder from the wall. He’s a bit shorter than Ben, with light skin and dark hair, a scraggly beard, and dark eyes that are a bit wrinkled from the broad smile on his face. He’s wearing a fluorescent orange tee-shirt, cargo pants, and horrifyingly enough, black socks with Adidas sandals. 

 

Ben thinks he’s the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. 

 

“What’s inconvenient is that I’m in love with you too, you dork,” Caleb says, and to hear that familiar voice, but now in person, makes something in Ben’s chest break. 

 

He surges forward, and Caleb meets him halfway. Their first kiss feels as natural as breathing, as Caleb cradles Ben’s face in between broad palms, and Ben clutches his shirt, then his hair, their mouths pressed together as Ben tries to pour out all of the love in his heart, tries to translate it, through his lips and hands. 

 

They break apart eventually, and Caleb runs a thumb over Ben’s cheekbone. “Should’ve known you were a blond supermodel,” he says, staring up at Ben in wonder. “Damn, Tallmadge, tell me you’ve got an extra toe or something-” and Ben laughs. 

  
  
“I love you,” he says, just to see how Caleb’s face lights up, his dark eyes practically glowing. 

  
  
“I love you too,” Caleb replies, and Ben brings him in for another kiss, desperate for his touch.

 

They eventually tear down the rest of the wall, combining their two apartments. At night, Ben plays the piano as Caleb works on his computer, and when they both retire for the evening, they sleep in the same bed, always tangled in each other’s limbs. 

 

“Imagine if we did this from the start,” Ben says one night, his face pressed in Caleb’s neck. 

  
Caleb laughs, shifts so that their blanket is covering the two of them more evenly. “I’m just glad we’re here now. We’re making up for lost time, anyways,” and they kiss again, and their apartment is quiet around them in this peaceful moment. 

 

•••

 

 

 


End file.
